Keeme (pronounced “KEY-mee”) is an online buddy for the past ten years. I was working at a Hummer dealership (the vehicle…get your minds out of the gutter) in 2004 and blogging about it daily – you wouldn’t believe the amount of writing material a Hummer dealership provides! Keeme started reading my blog, I started reading his blog, and we have become good friends ever since.
Keeme has been through a lot in his life, and has a lot to triumph over. Here he will talk about the ways he has learned to cope with the hand life has dealt him.
I have been through a lot. I know what you’re all thinking “who hasn’t?” I’m not saying I’ve been through more that anyone, just telling y’all why I am writing about how Ive managed to do this life stuff… so far.
The “stuff” that allows me to park closer to the front door at Walmart.
I was born with Spina Bifida, and thus started the opposite of a so called “normal” life. Even after many surgeries, loss of limb, and tons of ridicule… I was still in love with living.
Life was already a son of a bitch, with all the attention my affliction was attracting, but when my circle, my own family would call me names or not let me and that reindeer play in their stupid games… that was the worst. I could handle a perfect stranger calling me “that crippled kid,” but when it was my own blood, that cut deeper than the scalpos waiting for me at the Arizona Crippled Childrens hospital.
I need to ZAG a bit. The name of the hospital where I spent most of my childhood was called the ARIZONA CRIPPLED CHILDRENS HOSPITAL, I hate that name so hard. The word “crippled” is the worst word of my life. I heard it so many times, followed by laughter and other hates. If you know me, or want to know me, don’t use the word.
Back to ZIGGING… I closed myself off most of the time, I was depressed, and found living inside my head was a much better place than the real. I ran out of tears by the time I was 12, I won’t go into the why this round. Come back next time and maybe we can chat about that.
I’ve yet to be seen by a professional (about my depression). I dealt with rage and darkness all by my lonsome. Diagnosed myself long ago and figured out how to survive the people and situations well enough to get by. I was in a really bad place as a kid. As I got older, drugs and alcohol were great therapy. Then it happened, my first daughter was born, my life now had meaning. As each of my children came into the picture, I realized how I was wrong about it all. I was living my life as the punching bag, the target, and believing bullshit like “I AM crippled and damaged,” what I learned from my girls was; I was perfect. I have value because of them, they were the missing pieces of my broken everything.
My fans (As I call the people who stare at me as I limp along or wheel by), are still coming to all my shows… I just stopped signing autographs of shame with my eyes. I’m content to let them stare and walk away, no more puffy chest and attitude. When I feel the eyes upon me, I smile and think of my babies, my family. I still have a ton of shit to deal with as an old man. It will probably go to the grave with me, but I was able to pull out of the darkness. I taught the girls about bullying and how “Daddy was bullied as a kid,” and have become the most wonderful people.. ask anyone who knows them, I DOUBLE DOG DARE YOU ASK! The answer you’ll get is “they are so amazing!”
I don’t know if it is a triumph, my moments of happiness, but when I think of my girls the blip on the radar flashes. Either way I’ve been trying to fly by as fast as I can without being detected. Now it really doesn’t matter, detected or not I know what it feels like to be normal.
I am proud of my ability to close myself off, it was learned because of a need. The pain and scars will be with me for the duration of this flight, but My kids made it so I can enjoy the trip. I do plan on getting help and figuring it all out, yes even after all these years! I rarely close my eyes and go away anymore. I still do it, but it’s much easier to pick up the phone and call one of my girls; the darkness fades to black when I hear “Hello Daddy!”